


Naamah's Token

by kali



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: BDSM, F/F, F/M, fireplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali/pseuds/kali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loving many people in many ways need not diminish either fidelity or passion. [Nicola/Phedre]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naamah's Token

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for Artaxastra, whose stories have given me much enjoyment; I hope this gives you some pleasure.
> 
> Written for Artaxastra

 

 

I heard the tale told once in Cereus House where I spent my childhood, of how proud Azza and cruel Kushiel wagered a province between them for a night spent in Naamah's arms. Azza, whose sin the Yeshuites say was overweening arrogance, lost the toss, and Kushiel was to exact his winnings, as was his right. But then, or so the tale goes, Naamah's softness which could not bear to see Azza's pride laid low would still have leavened Kushiel's pitiless victory with her tears. Yet did Azza turn away in rage so that now instead the matter lies ever betwixt them.

And yet, when I eagerly reminded my lord Delaunay of that story, thinking it some explanation perhaps of the recent contretemps between Ysandre L'Envers de la Courcel, the Shahrizai and the scions of Azza, with all its ominous undertones, and thinking as well, I make no doubt, that Delaunay might find me wise beyond my years, he simply laughed.

We were then at Perrinwolde, in those few halcyon days just after House Trevalion had been brought low - that last time before Melisande's schemes had shown their teeth in truth, and ripped our small family asunder.

"So they tell it in the Night Court, do they?" Delaunay had chuckled. "It might have been a different matter at Eglantine House; they possess lore that even...the Siovalese might envy."

Delaunay looked at my face; it must have been full of chagrin despite my efforts to keep it unmoving, for he stifled his laughter and went on in all seriousness. "It is a difficult business, sifting through stories told and retold thousands of times to find kernels of true speaking - and those of the gods even more so. You'll find, Phèdre, that most tales must be coaxed to unveil their mysteries."

"Think on the story again," he said gravely. "I think mayhap you'll find the secret in it - if you search. We'll talk of this anon."

I went away in something of a huff; it is no small matter at that age to present your best attempt at wit and be sent away in favor of more study. Nevertheless, my pique was nothing compared to the untrammeled joy those days brought us- Alcuin, Delaunay and I.

If events had unfolded differently, I suppose the puzzle might have niggled at me for a brief space of time, till I could tease out its meaning and lay it at Delaunay's feet but as matters chanced, my lord and I never finished that conversation. Amidst all the horrors that followed, this was not even the least of my regrets and I must confess for many years, I did not even remember it.

***

It was the winter a year and a half after Ysandre's fete honoring us, where I had declared before the assembled peerage of Terre D'Ange that Messire Joscelin Verreuil was my consort - that Nicola L'Envers y Aragon came back to Court.

Joscelin and I had known well what we did when we made our union. His was Cassiel's choice; like Cassiel, he had broken all his vows except one, and that for love. And I? I, whose very being thrilled to the core at passion's violence, found his anguish almost too painful to endure, especially when he now bore it with a smile. Betimes lying next to him in some quiet moments was like lying against a blade. Truly, the gods must laugh. Though, doubt it not, it was with Joscelin that I truly knew peace, contentment - where I loved as _I_ willed, not where destiny thrust me, where I could choose the beguilements of Namaah's arts and not live bedeviled by the pricking goad of my god-cursed nature.

And yet.

I knew Kushiel's dart would not let me rest. And so did he.

Lady Nicola was no longer a patron; if anything I would have called her a friend. Though Ysandre's cousin, she had been given no fete or companion's star, but it was she who had given me the sacred password of her house - when her uncle Barquiel L'Envers and I had nearly destroyed the realm between us. Without her gambit of trust, we might all be dead. She had taught me much. And so we were friends, of a sort, and it was no surprise to me when a letter came, I thought, to apprize me of her arrival.  
  
We were in the City of Elua again that winter, after autumn's harvest had left Montreve in fine fettle, to lie waiting till spring should wake it once more. And while I have enjoyed the husbandry of the land, the feel of homely tasks against my fingertips - learning to make candles, to preserve fruit - all the duties of a country chatelaine, I was born and bred on Mont Nuit - and so the pulse of the city ever beats against my veins.  
  
When the courier handed me the missive, stamped with Nicola's arms: the crest of House L'Envers - the bridge over the river in Hell laid over the red bars and golden field of Aragonia, I opened it without the slightest anticipation of what was to come.  
  
Nicola's perfume of dangerous lime and sweet lavender arose as I slit open the letter, and I felt my scalp prickle with excitement as I saw the four lines, couched in the formal language of assignation, shining in black ink on the page. I felt hunger tie a knot that ached for fulfillment in the small of my back; I could almost feel her breath ghosting over the nape of my neck.  
  
Ah, Elua, I thought. I was still in Naamah's service, and yet this letter offered no price. But how I wished it had.  
  
As Joscelin and I gingerly tested the bounds of our commitment, we had known that this day must come. I knew not how Cassiel's judgment rang in Joscelin's ears, but I could sense Kushiel's bronze wings beating and clashing far off in the distance. He had not done with me, and Joscelin would once more stand at the crossroads and choose. I had no fear of his choice, but I had no mind to make it harder than I might. Once a year would I take a patron? Six times? How far ought I to test Cassiel's mercy? Or Naamah's boundless compassion?  
  
We knew not, but it lay between us. Nicola's letter had come at a moment when I could feel the need building up within me; when Joscelin's stern tenderness and worshipful touch was becoming pure torment - that raged without ever finding fulfillment.  
  
I could almost see Nicola's mocking violet eyes, gazing at me, cruel and amused. In those times between us, her lazy, dangerous laugh had caressed me like a whip, and, Name of Elua, how I longed to feel it flick against me.  
  
If I told Joscelin that I intended to return to the full weight of Naamah's service, I knew he would suffer. I also knew he would understand. If he was Cassiel's forsworn priest, then so was I Naamah's servant, whose work was done in her keeping, and for her sacrament.  
  
But however formally worded, no contract appeared in Nicola's epistle. And it was Joscelin I loved, whose life I shared, from whom I had taken so much. I would not take this too.  
  
I did not reply to Nicola's letter. 

It was on the Longest Night that we met, Nicola and I, as I might have known we would. Joscelin did not escort me thither; as ever, he kept Elua's vigil, whilst I went to the Palace fete alone.  
  
While her demeanor had not improved, Favrielle no Eglantine's designs seemed to thrive on freedom. Colors were dark, jewel tones in Elua's city that season, but Favrielle refused to let my costumes follow fashion.  
  
She asked if I would bare my marque, and when I mutely shook my head, she pursed her lips, but forbore to speak. Instead she sketched out a high-collared, sleeveless gown, in a pale apple-green, draped in the Hellene style, but trimmed with rich, dark brown brocade. She wound cleverly fashioned leaves about my arms, and into a mask. With an emerald and peridot fillet set about my hair, she declared me finished.  
  
I looked in the mirror, and beheld Favrielle's silent but stringent commentary on my cowardice - Daphne, forever running from the god who loved her and thus transformed into a tree.  
  
When Joscelin kissed me in farewell, our eyes met, and he smiled. "Joie to you on the Longest Night," he said.  
  
"And to you," I whispered. "Ah, Joscelin, I will miss you tonight."  
  
He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. "Phèdre," he said somewhat haltingly, and without facing me. "You were still Delaunay's anguisette when first I loved you. And continued, even when you bade Hyacinthe farewell."  
  
I waited, but he did not finish - merely turned and bestowed another heartbreakingly beautiful smile upon me, and left.  
  
Joscelin did not always say all he knew. 

I danced with many peers of Ysandre's court before Nicola approached me. She was dressed in deep violet, trimmed in pale lavender; her mask did not hide her eyes - they were sparkling and hard like jewels. I knew not what she represented, merely that she looked as regal as a queen, though scarcely taller than I.  
  
I sank into a courtier's curtsey as she approached me; betimes the rituals of rank and palace succor me as much as the kneeling etiquette of the Night Court was used to. Instead of responding in kind, I felt her finger nail stroke my cheek, feather light, and I shivered. She seized my chin and lifted it then, so that I could no longer drop my eyes, but needs must look at her.  
  
She looked at me consideringly, with the hint of mockery in her gaze that I remembered so well.  
  
"Phèdre," she said. "You had my letter?"  
  
"Yes, my lady," I said breathlessly.  
  
"You did not wish to grant me the favor of a reply?" she said, honeyed irony dripping from every word.  
  
"Nicola," I said, low.  
  
She laughed, and lifted me up from the curtsey, then removed her hand; I nearly cried out to stop her, but bit my lip against it.  
  
When we had been eye to eye for a moment, she leaned forward and kissed me deliberately. "Joie to you on the Longest Night, Phèdre," she said against my lips, before she pulled away.  
  
"And to you, my lady," I said. I could still taste her lips on mine, and I felt the rush of sensation unfurl through me, as the ache of desire burned like liquor and fire.  
  
"In the Night Court," she said, "they do not accept contracts on the Longest Night."  
  
"No, my lady" I whispered.  
  
"We come together this night because Blessed Elua said _Love as thou wilt_ \- and tonight we do it in celebration of love, of light. Because we are D'Angeline, and because we know, it is not just those great passions of which legends are sung, but also the small loves of every day, the hearth fires at which we warm ourselves - these also keep the darkness at bay."  
  
I remembered the secret of which I had never spoken to anyone. That in truth, I had loved them all, a little. Not just what might have been between Hyacinthe and I; the soul-searing passion I had for Melisande - but all of them - were ever and always in my heart.  
  
"We are friends, I think," Nicola said, and I nodded, and put my hand in hers.  
  
"Lead away, my lady," I said. "I would warm myself at your fire."  
  


***

Mayhap I had not considered the literal nature of my request. I should have remembered the burning river that marked her as L'Envers born.

Still, I remembered it when that night she laid me down on her bed, stripped naked, my pale skin shining against the blood red silks on her bed. She had shackled my wrists and ankles with harsh leather cuffs, and chained them each to one of the four posts of the bed, so I lay before her, spread open and glistening with wetness in the candlelight as she observed me steadily.

"You wanted to warm yourself at my fire," she said, as she lit more candles till the room blazed with light.

Finally she was standing in front of me, holding one unlit waxen taper - thick and white.

I caught my breath in fear.

"I shan't blindfold you, my dear," she said. "I want you to see this."

Then she lit the candle.

When the first molten drop of wax fell from no very great distance, the first burst of pain was exquisite. It tore through me and exploded. And then it went on, as Nicola did not allow me surcease. She continued to draw waxen patterns on my body, around my breasts and then down between them towards my nether lips, over the curve of my thigh, and then closer and closer to my nipples, and then almost touching Naamah's pearl - tender, agonizing molten trails that seared across my skin- with merciless slowness, and exploded into stinging sunbursts of agony where I was most sensitive. The flame of the candle danced perilously close as well, and I felt its heat sizzle across my undecorated skin till I felt the torture all over - in every fiber of my being.

The red haze descended, and I screamed, begging her not to stop.

It was then that she thrust the candle itself inside me, and I climaxed around its thickness until I thought that I would surely die.

I did not, of course, and it was only then that she knelt above me, her fingers flickering over herself, her shift pulled up past her thighs, while I craned my neck and begged to be allowed to perform the _languisement_ and touch her with my lips and tongue, as I burned, well sauced in my own juices, and she held herself away, laughing that low dangerous, lazy laugh that nearly made me spend again.

***

Joscelin had smiled at me when he returned from keeping Elua's vigil; smiled and kissed my lips and throat; he did not smile, however, when he saw the red marks that Nicola's shackles had left on my wrists.

I had not hid them; what was the point? Sooner or later, whether I wished to or no, I would tell him. Better to let him see what I was, what I would always be.

He nodded. We spoke without words sometimes these days; knowing now that words could be weapons, and once said, could never be withdrawn without leaving a scar.

Joscelin touched my cheek, and I leaned into his touch, with all its terrible gentleness, and then he left me and walked up to our room and, I hoped, into sleep's forgetful embrace.

***

It was a fortnight later perhaps, and Roxane de Mereliot, the Lady of Marsilikos, had come to the City of Elua to enliven the winter with a fete of her own, claiming that even in Elua's city, we must have recovered from the excesses of the Longest Night by then.

Joscelin and I attended, of course. I am passing fond of the Lady, and owe her gratitude in no small measure; so too does Joscelin.

We had picked up the thread of our lives; there was some quietness between us, but no rancor or resentment, for which I was thankful, even though I did not think myself deserving of his grace. Still, we knew, he and I, that we could be no more than we were; so equally, could we be no less.

Nicola was there, as well, which surprised me not - though the sheer delight that raced through me as I heard her laughter ring out in the room, did.

Courtiers surrounded me, asking for the favor of a dance, and I smiled - it is my trade after all, and I make no apologies for my success at it.

Joscelin gave me his quiet smile, and stepped back to allow them to come nearer, but instead of waiting by me as was his wont, he strode off towards Nicola.

When I saw his direction, for perhaps the first time in my life, I halted abruptly in the middle of a step, and with no pretense at grace, gazed after him. What would he do? I begged my erstwhile partner to excuse me, and trailed after him, unable to stop myself.

He went to her, and made his Cassiline bow. She smiled at him, and curtsied gracefully, her bronze hair shining fiercely in the light.

"This is my dance, I think, my Lady Nicola."

I cannot swear that my jaw did not fall open.

"As you will it, my Lord Cassiline," Nicola said steadily, and laid her hand in his.

They moved into the measured, stately steps of the sarabande, and I watched while they danced, and around them the members of the court hushed and stilled at their fierce beauty.

At the end of the dance, Nicola swept into a deep, reverent curtsey, and held it - the acknowledgement of a superior. Joscelin stood still for a moment, and then gave her his perfectly controlled Cassiline bow.

The silence ended, with the crowd bursting into mutters of excited speculation, and the music shifted into a gavotte, as Joscelin gave Nicola his arm and led her from the floor to my side. He smiled at me, and then asked Nicola if she would like a glass of wine. She smiled at him appreciatively and he moved off.

We stood, looking at one another, and then she spoke.

"Know you the story of Azza and Kushiel?" she asked

"Yes," I said. "They diced for Namaah's favors."

"They tell the tale in the Night Court, I see," Nicola said in her low, husky voice that always seemed amused.

"It always seemed a sad tale to me," I said. "When Azza's pride could not be softened by Naamah's tears, and that night of loss lay ever between him and Kushiel."

"You know the estates of House L'Envers lie in Namarre between Kusheth and Azzale," she asked. "There the story runs somewhat differently. Naamah went that night to Kushiel. And instead, she gave Azza her token - the bronze brooch that closes his cloak. Mayhap Azza turned away that night out of grace - not rage. No one knows the truth of the story, of course. Still she chose to make her home between them. Mayhap that speaks for itself."

All at once I wished as fiercely as I ever had that Delaunay were alive again - that I could tell him I understood. Naamah's justice, Kushiel's mercy, Azza's grace.

Nicola kissed my cheek. "I go back to my Aragonian exile soon."

"I will miss you, my lady," I said, smiling.

"And I you," she said.

"And you as well, my Lord Cassiline," she said to Joscelin who had returned with her wine, "surprising though you may find it."

"Elua keep you," he said. "Come back to us soon."

She nodded, and glided away into the crowd while Joscelin and I gazed into each other's eyes.

"Oh, Joscelin," I said, "I do love you."

"I know, my love," he replied, and bent to kiss me. "Shall we dance?"

***

The next day, I went to my jeweler, Master Augustin Dupont, and gave him a commission - the only one of its kind I would ever give, in thanks for all that had been given me.

"I would have you make a cabochon garnet seal, Master Dupont, as crimson as this mote in my eye. A single emblem carved in it in relief - a dart, fletched and sharp tipped. A lover's token, for my Lady Nicola L'Envers y Aragon."

 

 

 


End file.
